A lone bird rising into the morning sky reminds us that every flight begins the same way — meeting the wind, opening our wings, and trusting the air to hold us.
Learning to Fly (a Senryu)
How to fly away Face the wind and spread your wings Leap and trust yourself
And sometimes, in the lift between fear and hope, we discover the wings we didn’t know we had.
Some mornings test us in small, stubborn ways — cold water, burnt toast, lights that won’t flick on. This old poem from July 2018 reminds me that even on those days, we can reset, breathe, and begin again.
Burnt Toast And A Cold Shower
When it’s so hard to get out of my warm bed, I force myself to throw the sheets off, and I face another day again.
When the light doesn’t go on above my head, I replace the globe and flick the switch, and I see again
When my shower hot water turns cold, I patiently wait for the boiler to reheat, and I shall be ready again.
When the toaster burns my bread, I turn the grey dial down to three, and I restart again
When the kettle runs bone dry, I dutifully refill the jug, and enjoy a cuppa again.
When breakfast is done, and it’s time to run, I feel the advantage of being alive, and I smile at my world again.
And sometimes a song is all it takes to steady the morning again.
Last evening’s twilight brought two distant birds gliding across the sky — a quiet moment I thought little of at the time. But this morning, Gina’s birthday bundle arrived from Kuala Lumpur, carrying its own warmth across the miles. Suddenly those birds felt like a gentle reflection of our long friendship: separated by distance, yet always moving within the same sky. From that pairing of twilight wings and Gina’s thoughtful bundle, this three‑couplet poem emerged — three small waves of acknowledgement, connection, and renewal.
Gina’s response:“This is a very special poem — yes, please post it; too beautiful to be kept hidden.Love the second stanza about the stars.” — Gina
Distant Stars — A Poem for Gina
Long grey clouds may separate our friendship, but distance is not part of the script.
We endearingly continue to wave from afar, like a constellation’s pair of outlying stars.
Luminously looking forward to our next meeting, and tenderly renewing our curriculum vitae greetings
A fitting accompaniment — Angus & Julia Stone’s “Celestial Bodies,” a live performance with the same quiet, sky‑bound warmth that inspired this poem.
This Tanka began with a small moment of irony. While sheltering from the cold and waiting for the weather to clear, I spotted a piece of street art near the café — the words “Sunsets in Zadar” painted across a brick wall. I noticed straight away that it carried a perfect five‑syllable rhythm, an ideal opening line for a Haiku or Tanka. From that simple spark, the poem grew into a quiet reflection spoken from the sun itself, reaching across horizons with its global glow.
Zadar Sunsets(a Tanka)
Sunsets in Zadar I’m nowhere near Croatia But here within view Above your hill’s horizon My global glow finds your land
A final touch of light to end the moment — a sunset song to accompany the sun’s own words, drifting across horizons just as the poem does.
In this solitary silhouette, I felt the sky fold back into its deeper self — a quiet reminder that infinity is not a distant realm but a shift in perception. Darkness becomes brightness when seen in reverse, and even the faintest glow can reveal the universe’s hidden architecture. These three captures from my afternoon walk opened that doorway, and as I sat with them at the café, the poem below arrived in a small explosion of insight — a moment where inverted light found its voice.
Into the Blue
I’m unravelling my way From out of the grey And back into the blue For an unobstructed view Of the unfettered universe Where I can observe light in reverse
I perceive the panorama of infinity’s darkness To be a cosmic aurora of brightness — Not a mere perception of blackness But a transparent glow of hopefulness
Two visions of blue — one rising from the depths, one bursting into joy — each reflecting a different facet of the journey from grey to light. Together they complete the sky the poem began.
The morning sky felt like an open canvas, and the birds rose into it as if painted there — framed by light, archived in motion, and forever just beyond our human reach.
Beyond Reach (a Haiku)
Shadows on the sky Bird silhouettes hover high Beyond human reach
This poem grew from two separate comments I left on Nancy’s site, written almost four weeks apart. Different days, different moods — yet when I revisited them, they seemed to lean toward one another and form a cohesive whole. Stanzas 1 and 2 came from La Casa Azzurra – The Elephant’s Trunk and stanzas 3, 4, and 5 from What’s Left Behind – The Elephant’s Trunk
Fresh shoes for familiar paths — proof enough that this man plans on walking a little further yet.
Over at Weekly Prompts, the weekend challenge is the word “Anxiety”. To visit their fabulous site, please click on >> Here
This Morning, or This Anxious Man
I woke up this morning, which is always a good thing — with blue surrounding my head, quietly filtering through the blinds from dawn’s levitating, bright blue sky.
I do not need to ask why the tranquil colour blue serendipitously keeps me flying high.
I am who I am. I’m an old man, and I do the best I can.
My dreamworld plan is out of my hands.
I remember how it all began, and here I am — between Cannes and scans, still walking this land.
For the fragments that find each other, the blue mornings, the old roads, and the man who keeps trusting the day ahead.
Down a quiet back lane near the café, this striking street art stopped me in my tracks — it felt like a quiet conversation waiting to happen, eye to eye with the unexpected.
Eye to Eye, or I to I
With one eye querying mankind and the other eye wondering about my state of mind — bewildered and always pondering what’s real beyond my Venetian blinds.
I am neither refined nor confined, and I have escaped being quarantined.
I question myself. Are my eyes behind the times, or have I misread my bookshelf’s poetry finds and the fairytale rhymes?
A final glance, and the moment drifted on — leaving its quiet echo behind, carried forward now in the music’s slow drift
Today’s Throwback goes back to August 2019, just months after my second and third strokes — a time when the days were dim, and every movement felt uncertain. Finding this poem again reminded me how far that long road has stretched. The wattlebirds I photographed today — wings lifted, rising into open sky — feel like symbols of that slow, determined recovery. This revised piece holds both the struggle and the light that followed.
Long, Long Way (Revised)
I’ve come a long, long way I remember the bad, bad days When yesterday’s were dark and grey On level seven, under heaven’s archway
Lying there immobile and prone Waiting for the etching of my gravestone Unable to hear my silent headphones Unknowingly, spinning inside a black cyclone
I awoke somewhere outside my world’s twilight zone Slowly realising I’d been saved, and finality was postponed
The soundtrack to those long, long days — and the light that followed.
This afternoon’s sky gifted me a flock of silhouettes — pigeons rising and circling through the light as if carrying the world’s weight on their wings. Their quiet resilience inspired the Tanka below, a small reflection on the lives caught beneath the shadows of conflict.
Pigeons of the World (a Tanka)
Here under the sun I am not the only one Being overrun By the world’s greedy hired guns Who’s minding our war torn sons?
And still the sky remembers what we forget — even the pigeons know the rise and fall of empires.